Lack of Suport Part Two
by provencepuss
Summary: I'm not really posting WIP- just writing another installment when the muse hits. All resemblance to dealing with a real-life website are....probably intentional! Remember; The guys are older wiser and equipped for our high-tech world.


**Lack of Support **

**Part Two**

Hutch stared at the murder weapon. "Hey at least someone still uses old fashioned pens now and then."

Starsky grinned. "Yeah. Gives a whole new meaning to "poison pen" doesn't it?"

"Huh?"

"Lookit, Hutch be logical. This tiny nib couldn't have caused enough loss of blood to kill. And you don't need to be an ME to see that the bleeding isn't enough for cause of death. Let's take a closer look."

Starsky rummaged in his pockets and produced a pair of thin cotton gloves; he slipped them on and then pulled out a pair of latex gloves to cover them. Starsky was allergic to latex; something that had caused him a few worried moments back in the swinging seventies if he saw an ex-sex-partner with a swollen belly. As far as he knew he only had two kids; the result of a long and happy marriage to Alison. He turned the corpse carefully and looked up at Hutch. The ugly slash across the victim's chest was enough to have caused a small pool of blood even after the heart had stopped beating. Starsky picked up the pen again and sniffed it carefully before proffering it to Hutch. Hutch sniffed in turn and their eyes met.

The tell-tale smell of bitter almonds left no doubt; the victim had been poisoned with cyanide.

Starsky pulled the cell-phone out of his pocket and slipped his glasses onto the end of his nose as he ran through his call-list. He found the number he wanted and pressed 'call'.

"Hi Emma, it's Dave Starsky."

Hutch raised an eyebrow. Emma was an old friend. She had just started out as an assistant in the morgue when they were still cops. Now she was Bay City's Chief Medical Examiner. Trust Starsky to go straight to the top.

"Listen we have an odd situation over at the FictionWeb offices…. Yeah, that's right…. Well they rent office space in one of these business centers, I guess they have to have a place where the back-up team can work….we were asked to come see why their support team never answered member's questions about tech support and I guess you could say we've found some kind of explanation. We have a body!"

Emma must have made some comment because Starsky raised an eyebrow and chuckled. "That's exactly what we thought! Well OK _I_ thought; ol' Blondie doesn't know tiddly-squat about internet."

He gave Emma the address and flipped the cell-phone closed.

"Come on," he said, "let's go see if the pretty lady on the desk remembers who else came by here recently."

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The guy from FictionWeb's support had been identified by the owner of the business center building.

"His name is Joe Cartwright. He signed the lease. They rent the office, get the services of our receptionist, a box address and cleaning. They didn't sign up for telephone services or anything else. He told me that he ran some kind of internet business. I didn't ask much more – as long as it ain't illegal, I should care!"

"Did he work alone?" Hutch asked

"As far as I know. Never had any clients visiting either. He just paid the rent and came and went."

Starsky, Hutch and Emma were standing in the city morgue's autopsy room looking at the mortal remains of Joe Cartwright. Or whoever he really was. An ID check with Social Security and the federal data base of drivers' licenses draw a total blank. There were plenty of Joe Cartwrights driving around the United States, but not one of them looked like the man lying on the slab.

"OK so now we have two mysteries to solve." Starsky said. He jogged Hutch's elbow and winked "Gee isn't this exciting, just like in the cop shows – never a dull moment."

Hutch smiled. Ever since they had first hit the streets Starsky had taken delight in ridiculing cop shows and movies; pointing out that in real life it could take weeks, if not months, to get close to solving a case and then lose the thread. But on the screen the good guys managed to tie up all loose ends, come out of a few fights as if nothing had happened and maybe even find time for a roll in the hay and all within the time slot.

He grinned, "we need to find out who this guy really is. And that isn't going to be easy."

Emma gave them her findings. "I can't tell you who he really is; but I can put his dental records on the central data base and see if we get a match. I'd say he was around thirty years old. Some sign of carpal tunnel troubles – which indicates that he spent a lot of his time using a keyboard. And yes you were right; he died of cyanide poisoning. In fact you guys were lucky you handled the pen correctly. The reservoir was full of the stuff; I think the killer expected to find more than one person in the room."

"Like a full web-site support team." Starsky said quietly.

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"Where do we start Starsk?"

"Dunno…but I have an idea." Hutch didn't like the look in Starsky's eye; when had that particular glint in his eye it usually meant that Hutch was going to end up doing something he didn't want to.

"I'm listening."

"You used to say you wanted to write. So OK, now's your chance."

"Write! Me? Starsky I – I – I wouldn't know…."

"Hey we were cops for fifteen years weren't we? Write about one of our cases – you know one of the ones where we had lots of crazy adventures; I know – how about that time we went to that island and got voodooed. That was nuts nobody would believe it was true!"

"OK but…"

"I'll register you with FictionWeb and I'll even upload your stuff for you. All you have to do is type the story on a computer, OK? You know how to do that Hutch!"

Hutch gave in before he even thought of fighting it. Starsky could still produce that irresistible puppy dog look with his big blue eyes. And Hutch still couldn't resist it!

Starsky installed Hutch at one of the desktop computers in the office. He stood behind his partner to check that Hutch still remembered how to open a simple Word document; then went over to his laptop.

"OK, let's see here. Name, Blondblintz.; Password…." Starsky chuckled, "Zebra 3."

Hutch threw him a sour look but accepted the inevitable.

Starsky busied himself the rest of the day researching the FictionWeb website.

Every now and then he would stop and scribble something on the legal pad that he kept by his laptop.

Hutch also had a legal pad and to Starsky's despair he was writing his story _in longhand._

"Hey; we don't have a secretary buddy; you're gonna have to type it up anyway."

"I know that; but I can't write directly onto the screen." Hutch sucked his pencil pensively and leaned back in his chair so far that Starsky was ready for the crash. "Writers need to be inspired Starsky. The blank page; the whisper of the pencil on the paper…"

"The sound of an idiot falling off his chair."

By the end of the morning Starsky had covered three pages and Hutch had written one paragraph. The brunet rolled his eyes and grabbed the pad.

"The fiery red Torino screeched through the city night as the two young cops went in hot pursuit of a desperate felon…." He sighed. "Jeez Hutch; I remember when Dobey chewed me out for writing a report like that!"

"Ok smart ass; if you can do better go ahead." Hutch threw his pencil at the pot (and missed) and eased himself out of his chair to leave the room. The days were gone when he could dramatically shove his chair back, stand up in one movement and storm out of the room. Now he needed to lean on the desk as he straightened his age-stiffened back. Starsky was older and a little heavier too but it was one of life's little ironies that despite all the bullets he'd taken in his life he was still able to jog a mile a day. Hutch wandered out of the office to the sanctuary and lit a cigarette…Starsky would chew him out for this but he no longer cared.

When he had finished his smoke Hutch went back into the office. Starsky was back at the screen typing furiously. He hit the print button and turned to Hutch. He sniffed and grimaced. "You smell like an ashtray."

"I love you too _old _buddy."

Starsky treated him to a big lopsided grin. "If you _really _meant that you'd stop trying to kill yourself with those things."

Hutch shook his head; "what about your little indulgence then?"

"It's been scientifically proved that it relieves pain and reduces nausea – just the thing when I get a migraine."

The printer stopped spewing out pages and Hutch gathered them up; he started to read. He had to admit it was good.

"I thought if I started you off…."

"OK, you win; I'll even do it on the computer."

"Great. I need two chapters by this evening. I'm going to start posting it as a WIP."

"A what?"

"WIP: W for work I for in P for progress"

"I'd rather you didn't."

Now it was Starsky's turn to raise his eyebrows. "Huh?"

"If you post it and I want to change something, then what do I do?"

"And might you want to change something?"

"Well yes, I mean I don't know; I guess it depends where the story leads me."

Starsky pretended to whistle. "Wow!"

Hutch sat down and started to type.

Starsky looked at the list of things he had written on his pad and pulled out his cell phone again. He didn't need his glasses to find the number this time.

"Hug? Starsky. I need a little information….yeah….ok I'll be right over."

He stood up. "You wanna come with me to The Pits or are you wrestling with your muse?"

Hutch pressed the save button.

"The Muse can wait. I need a beer."


End file.
